


Pursuit of Nirvana

by whimsicalmuse



Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-23
Updated: 2004-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:13:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsicalmuse/pseuds/whimsicalmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elijah muses at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pursuit of Nirvana

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Shirasade: this story was originally archived at the [Monaboyd.net Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Monaboyd.net), which was closed in September 2014 due to software issues and a lack of new submissions for several years. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2014. I e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Monaboyd.net Archive collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Monaboyd_Archive/profile).

Downy. Yea, that’s what that smell is. April fresh, I believe. April fresh Downy, and a hint of aftershave. Something spicy. And a heartbeat. A strong heartbeat. Thump-thump, thump-thump, against my ear.

They say that one’s pain, strife, hardship, call it what you want is self-inflicted. We are unhappy only because we _make_ ourselves unhappy. I look down at honey baked skin, gleaming in the orange light from the digital alarm clock, I think, _that’s probably true._

His body is limp, strong legs sprawled out selfishly perhaps, taking up more than half the bed. His shirt is hiked up just a bit, and a sliver of warm skin stands out against the grey of his shirt. His eyelashes flutter with some unknown dream, and they rest against his face, like a doll baby.

He would kick my ass if he knew I compared him to a doll.

But he is. Ok, maybe like a teddy bear at least. Big warm arms that wrapped around me from day one, enveloping me like the green cloaks we wore, letting me go when I squirmed. Knowing exactly what I needed and when and how.

Except, when it came to knowing I needed him-and _how_. But I set him straight.

They also say that the road to nirvana is paved with suffering. Chocolate wisps of hair settle on a careworn forehead, not quite old, yet, no longer young. Battle scars that tell of court hearings, press junkets, divorce, grief, rejection, and loneliness at many different ages. Dark stubble juts out from baby soft skin, cheeks, still round, like they were when he was thirteen. I look at strong hands, speckled with golden brown hairs, on thick fingers. They too are limp from sleep, and resting on his belly. In the dark gold digital light sparks off bright gold metal. I can’t help but caress his fingers. They twitch in his sleep and I smile.

Nirvana is paved on a road of suffering? Yea, they’re probably right. I probably should be wallowing right now. Should be drying tears for all that I won’t have, all that he would have to lose, but I can’t. Why? Because in my own way I’ve found my fractured nirvana. And it smells like April fresh Downy, and after shave. So, with a sigh, and a fond rustle on that soft hair, I tuck back in, and even in sleep, he pulls me closer, mumbling “Love you, Lijah.” His voice is thick and fuzzy. And as my eyes begin to droop, and the yellow lights blur, I inhale, and smell the flowers. The sound of his heart thumps against my ear, and a lavender dawn rises.


End file.
